Grey shifted his attention to her. “It was used as the getaway vehicle in a robbery, and later the same night it was involved in a hit-and-run. An elderly man was knocked down and left in a coma – he’s in critical condition.”
“Well it’s nothing to do with me,” Quilty declared. “The car’s nothing to do with me anymore.”
Grey accepted that with a nod. “Can you tell me anything about the man who bought the car from you?”
“You think he bought the car to rob someone? Why the hell would he do that? It’s bloody stupid, he’d just steal a car if that’s what he wanted one for.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Mr Quilty, but since the vehicle is still legally registered to you, has been used in a crime, and has not been reported stolen by you, it’s in your interests to help me trace the car’s movements, and the person who bought it from you.”
“He was about forty, maybe a little younger,” Marsha Quilty spoke up, “with black hair.”
“Can you remember anything else about the man?”
Marsha thought back. “I think he said his name is Jeff, and he was buying the car for his daughter. Can you remember anything?” she asked of her son.
Grey took down all the details Marsha Quilty and her son could provide and then left. Although he had been angry and uncooperative, Grey didn’t think Paul Quilty was lying about having sold his car, unfortunately, since ownership had not been transferred in the DVLA database, and Quilty could not remember the name of the man he’d sold his car to, Grey was at a bit of a dead end.
29
Burke was already there, waiting for him, when he got to the van that had been used in Alice Keating’s kidnapping. Also there was the forensics team, who were waiting for permission to begin going over the van, and a trio of constables, whose job was to keep back the small crowd of interested onlookers. It surprised Stone to see that Louisa Orchard was not a part of the crowd, though he was pleased by her absence, since it meant he could work without being distracted by an endless series of questions.
Stone nodded to his partner as he reached him, and then moved over to check the van. Being careful not to touch the vehicle and disturb any evidence, he peered through the windows; he couldn’t see anything in the van that he thought might help to identify the kidnappers, but he didn’t expect to – things were never going to be that easy.
“Okay, get on with it guys.” At his gesture the four person forensics team moved forwards, so they could start their on-site investigations.
“Have you got anyone going door-to-door?” Stone asked of Burke as he stopped at his partner’s side.
“Not yet,” Burke admitted. “I’ve requested a couple more uniforms to help with it, but they haven’t arrived yet.”
“When they do, make sure they’re aware that the kidnappers could be in one of the properties along here.”
Burke nodded, and then asked, “Do you really think that’s likely?”
Stone looked up and down the street, his gaze settling on the business park up the street for a short while, before he answered his partner’s question. “No,” he said with a quick shake of his head. “They’d have to be pretty stupid to hold Alice Keating in one of these houses; there’s far too many people living around here, not to mention the people working on the business park – that’s a lot of people who might see something. If I was them, I’d have dumped the van here and switched to a different vehicle, figuring that everyone would assume the van belongs to one of the companies on the business park.”
“They obviously didn’t consider the nosey neighbour factor,” Burke remarked with a slight smile.
“The old lady with the walking stick?” Stone asked, running an eye over the crowd of onlookers before settling on a likely suspect.
“No, the middle-aged woman holding the baby,” Burke told him. “The van’s parked right outside her place. Apparently, she noticed it last night, but didn’t think much of it until she saw it was still there when she got up this morning, then the description of the van went out on the news and she recognised it.”
“I don’t suppose she saw the van’s arrival.”
Burke shook his head, drawing a sigh from Stone. “I thought that might be too much to hope for.”
30
After a restless night, during which she slept fitfully, Alice struggled to keep herself calm – it wasn’t an easy task, for she couldn’t dispel the fear that her kidnappers had plans for her beyond collecting a ransom from her father. That fear was made worse by a combination of tiredness, hunger, thirst, and a need to go to the toilet.
It had occurred to her some time before – she wished she knew what the time was, and how long had passed since she was snatched; it was not helping her mental state to be in a timeless bubble – that the bucket was intended for use as a toilet. The idea was an unpleasant one, more than unpleasant, and she had quickly pushed it aside, refusing to give it space in her troubled mind.
She could see no way out of the room – she was sure her father’s resourcefulness would have found a means of escape already, but, though she had always thought herself like him in that regard, she had failed – but the stubborn streak she had inherited, forced her to resist the urge to simply sit on the floor and wallow in her dark thoughts. It pushed her to her feet and forced her to walk up and down and around the room, so that she could keep herself physically ready in case an opportunity to escape presented itself.
Alice didn’t know how many times it was she had circled the room when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She immediately stopped her pacing and took up a sitting position beneath the board that covered the window. It required no effort for her to assume a fearful and non-threatening pose - fear was the dominant emotion filling her; despite that, she was tensed and ready for action.
Thankful that Crash was still asleep, Lewis ascended the stairs. When he reached the top, he bent to put down the plate he was carrying so he could unlock the door. He saw Alice straight away, she had moved from the corner she had occupied the last time he was in there, but was still on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around them.
“How are you this morning?” he asked solicitously. Approaching the teen, he set the sandwich he had made on the floor in front of her, along with a bottle of water.
There was no response from Alice, but that didn’t surprise Lewis; if he had been her, he wouldn’t have wanted to speak. “I hope you were able to sleep okay,” he said as he looked around for the plate he had left the previous evening. He was pleased to see that Crash’s negativity – he had suggested that Alice would attempt to use the plate as a weapon – was misplaced, the plate was still intact.
Alice watched her kidnapper put the food and bottle of water in front of her, and then followed him with her eyes as he made to collect the plate she had left in the corner. Out the corner of her eye she saw that the door was still open; it was her chance, she realised, and she quickly pushed herself to her feet and darted for the door. The moment she was through, she slammed the door shut behind her and slid home the bolt, then she hurried down the stairs.
Alice descended as rapidly as she could, heedless of the possibility that she might fall. Two and three at a time she took the stairs, all her focus on the front door she could see directly across from the foot of the staircase. Her hand was outstretched, reaching for the door even before she reached the ground floor.
Crash woke with a start, almost falling off the sofa he had been sleeping on as he sat up. It was only by grabbing at the back of the sofa that he was able to keep himself from tumbling to the floor. He heard thudding footsteps on the stairs as someone descended rapidly, and he quickly got to his feet to find out what was going on – the rapid tempo of the footsteps suggested trouble to him and he prepared himself to deal with it, whatever it might be.
He had barely made it to his feet when he saw Alice dart from the stairs to the front door. Not fully awake, it took Crash half a second to appre
ciate what he was seeing, and once he did he rushed from the living room, catching Alice as she pulled the door open.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” he wanted to know as he flattened the teen against the door, forcing it closed with a bang.
Alice felt the air explode from her as she was squashed by the much heavier figure behind her, she also saw stars momentarily after her head impacted with the thick wood of the front door. She shook her head to clear it and struggled to get free, a fight she realised she had no chance of winning even as she twisted and writhed, trying, and failing, to drive her elbow into her assailant.
“That’s enough of that,” Crash declared. With little in the way of effort he secured Alice’s wrists and, twisting her arms painfully up her back, pulled her away from the door. She tried again to get free as he guided her towards the stairs, but a quick tug on her arms persuaded her to give it up.
When he got to the top of the stairs, Crash held on to Alice with one hand, while with the other he reached out to unbolt the door and push it open.
Lewis’ calls for help had subsided as he heard his partner ascend the stairs, but he reached out to snatch the door wide the moment it was unbolted and began to swing open. He was relieved to see that Crash had managed to keep Alice from escaping – he had a fertile imagination, but he didn’t need it to realise that something unpleasant would have happened to him had the girl succeeded in escaping the house and making it to the road.
The relief he felt, which he was sure must have been visible on his face, was short-lived.
“What the hell happened, you bloody idiot?” Crash snarled as he pushed Alice into the room ahead of him. “If she’d been a little quieter, I wouldn’t have woken, and she’d have gotten away.” With an unnecessarily hard shove, he sent the schoolgirl sprawling; she landed face first with a sharp cry of pain, which he ignored.
“I was collecting the plate I left in here last night; she looked as though she was still in shock,” Lewis said defensively.
He was embarrassed by the ease with which he had been tricked by the teen’s apparent meekness, as well as by his failure to stop Alice before she could escape the room and bolt him in. In his mind, it only emphasised his inexperience when it came to criminal matters; he was a reluctant participant in this kidnapping, and with every passing moment he couldn’t help wishing that he hadn’t allowed his anger and greed to overcome his good sense.
Crash gave him a hard look, which spoke volumes. “You’re a bloody idiot,” he repeated, “and you’re gonna screw this whole thing up.” Stepping around Lewis he crossed to the sandwich and the bottle of water his partner had delivered, which he gathered up with a look that dared his partner to say something – he didn’t.
Lewis kept silent in the face of the dark expression on Crash’s face, which hinted at violence, and followed him from the room.
Afraid to move, but impelled by the needs of her body, Alice pushed herself up from the floor, first to her knees and then to her feet. “I need the toilet,” she called out urgently as the door swung shut, threatening to leave her alone once again.
“That’s what the bucket’s for.”
The door banged closed with an awful finality, and Alice turned hesitantly towards the bucket in the corner as she heard the bolt slide home and the key turn in the lock. Slowly, and with a great deal of reluctance, she approached the bucket, which seemed to become more horrible and more primitive the closer she got to it. With every step, she hoped and prayed that it was some kind of nasty trick, and that the door would be thrown open so she could be taken to a proper toilet, one with a seat, toilet paper, a flush, and a sink in which she could wash her hands once she was done.
Only when she reached the bucket, and had moved it away from the wall, did she accept that she would have to use it. With her face a mask of distaste, and her eyes on the door in case her captors should return to catch her at it, she reached under her skirt to pull down her underwear and then squatted unhappily over the bucket. She couldn’t believe what she was being forced to do – being kidnapped was bad enough, but this seemed far worse; it was cruel and inhumane.
31
Stone sipped at his coffee for a few moments while he waited for the briefing room to quiet down. Once it did he got started; it had been almost a day since Alice Keating was snatched, and he knew the more time that passed, the smaller their chances of finding her or her kidnappers became – the ransom drop would provide an opportunity for them to try and catch the kidnappers, or to get evidence that would lead to their capture, but he didn’t want to wait until then, or to have to rely on a possibility rising from a situation that hadn’t yet occurred.
“For those of you who haven’t heard about it yet, a second ransom note was received this morning, this one was posted to the Keating residence and delivered by Royal Mail. The note is currently in the hands of the forensics boys, and we hope to have their report by this evening, if not sooner; for now, what matters is that we now know the ransom drop is to take place tomorrow. We don’t yet know where or exactly when, but based on how things have gone so far, I think we can expect another note, either later today or first thing tomorrow, which will give us the final details.” He saw DCI Collins enter the room quietly and take up a position against the wall at the side of the room. “Following that, Owen Keating was escorted to the bank this morning, where he made arrangements for the three and a half million Euros demanded in the ransom note found in Brian Jacobs’ jacket last night by Constable Hanks.
“According to Mr Keating, the bank manager has promised to have the ransom money ready by noon tomorrow at the latest – it might even be ready by first thing, he can’t say for sure yet; we can only hope that noon tomorrow is soon enough, and that the kidnappers don’t expect the drop to be made before then. Once the manager calls to say the money is ready, DS Burke, along with a couple of uniforms, will take Mr Keating to the bank and escort him home with the ransom. I’m told the sum requested will fit into an ordinary briefcase, which will make transportation of it easier, but will also make it more difficult for us to keep track of.”
“Won’t those Scotland Yard tech guys put some kind of tracking device on the money?”
Stone didn’t see who asked the question, but from the direction of the other officers’ looks, he figured out the enquiry’s source. “Yes,” he answered Constable Ramirez. “Inspector Evans will be putting a tracking device in the briefcase with the money but, apparently, there are ways in which the kidnappers can disable or negate whatever device is used, if they know what they’re doing. Since that’s the case, I want at least two pairs of eyes on the money from the moment it’s collected.
“Now, I understand house-to-house enquiries in the street adjoining the school, and where Alice Keating was kidnapped, have finished, and the reports are waiting on my desk; would anyone care to summarise the findings?” He looked around questioningly, his focus shifting between Sergeant Reynolds and Detective Constable Hill, who had led the two teams of questioners.
It was Detective Hill who got to her feet to answer the question. “We’ve not had much success,” she admitted. “No-one in the street by the school saw anything in the week prior to the kidnapping. White vans were seen, but none that stopped or hung around or acted suspiciously in any way, and no unusual vehicles of any description. Two people did see the van used in the kidnapping on the day, but thought nothing of it, and they weren’t able to provide any details about the kidnappers. Only one person was seen, the driver, and the description we got of him is no more useful than that given at the scene.”
When Hill finished speaking and sat, Sergeant Reynolds got to his feet. “It was the same for my team,” he reported. “No-one we questioned was able to add anything to the witness statements we got yesterday. We were able to follow the van’s progress for a couple of streets after the kidnapping, thanks to eye-witnesses and CCTV footage – a couple of the officers on his team had strained their eyes watching the footage – b
ut we lost it after that.
“Now we know where they ditched the van, I’ve asked DS Burke to put a request in for all traffic and CCTV footage from that area so we can try and find them on it and see if we can get anything useful, like the vehicle they switched to, or where they went.”
It took almost an hour for Stone to go through the relatively small amount of evidence that had been gathered by the various branches of the investigation. Although there was more than a dozen officers working on the case, and the forensics department were giving it top priority, they had little in the way of useful evidence so far: a few smudged fingerprints, which were useless for identification purposes, some DNA traces that did not appear, as yet, to match anyone in the national database; they had also discovered that the license number on the van used in the kidnapping belonged to a Renault Clio, not a Ford van, white or any other colour.
“Anyone else got anything to report?” Stone asked of the assembled officers.
It was DC Reid who answered. “I’ve finished the background checks on the Keatings’ household staff, sir.”
“What did you find out?” Stone asked. He was pleased that the job had been finished, but he had expected to hear about the maid and the gardener before then, since he had asked Reid to check them first.
“Most of the staff came back clean,” Reid reported. “Barely a parking ticket between them; two have records, though: Ken Williams, one of the gardeners, has a juvenile record for petty theft, public order offences, joy-riding – the usual stuff – and he’s been cautioned twice for drug possession since hitting eighteen. Both those times it was for small amounts of pot, personal use amounts, not dealing.”
Stone nodded at that, it was what he had expected would be discovered in the gardener’s background check; based on how he had looked and acted the previous day, he suspected that the two cautions had done little to persuade him to give up his habit.